


Kinesthetic learning

by robokittens



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Referenced M/F, Sex Education, The Most Sex Richard Hendricks Has Had In His Life Literally Ever, post-4x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: "She risked herrelationship," Richard says, finally looking up at Jared. "I risked ourdeal. I risked thecompanyand it wasbad?!" His voice has gone a little high pitched. It makes Jared want to touch him: a reassuring hand on his knee, a fist tight in the curl of his hair.Richard goes almost-quiet, head in his hands again, mumbling incoherently."I could help you," Jared says finally, slowly. "If you'd like."





	Kinesthetic learning

**Author's Note:**

> you were looking for 8.5k of jared/richard porn, right? right? it's cool i gotcha
> 
> thank you so much to [mitochondriencocktail](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondriencocktail/pseuds/mitochondriencocktail) and to a host of others on tumblr who gave me the encouragement i needed to keep going. and thank you, as always, to [reserve](http://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve) for the tireless cheerleading and the invaluable beta that kept my voices (and my grammar) on track. ❤!!

"Bad," Richard says. At least, that's what Jared thinks he says; his words are kind of muffled by the painful looking way he's got his face pressed into his hands. He's slumped on Jared's neatly made bed in the garage, Jared sitting gingerly on the edge of it. "'Worst I've ever had, by far,' direct quote."

"Oh, Richard," Jared says. He hopes his tone comes off as consoling and not patronizing. "I'm sure it wasn't —"

"She risked her _relationship_ ," Richard says, finally looking up at Jared. "I risked our _deal_. I risked the _company_ and it was _bad_?!" His voice has gone a little high pitched. It makes Jared want to touch him: a reassuring hand on his knee, a fist tight in the curl of his hair.

Richard goes almost-quiet, head in his hands again, mumbling incoherently.

"I could help you," Jared says finally, slowly. "If you'd like."

Richard looks up at him. His eyes are red. 

"Help me," Richard echoes, dubious.

Jared knows his smiles are always awkward, but he smiles nonetheless. "Yes," he says.

"I don't — I think that — I — how?" 

Feigning a confidence he doesn't possess — this could backfire, oh, this could go horribly wrong — Jared reaches over. He puts his hand on Richard's thigh, gently but high enough that his intent is clear. "I could show you."

Richard stammers out an "oh."

"Would you … like that?" He doesn't mean to hesitate, but he can't help it. He can't quite look Richard in the eye, but that's fine; Richard is staring down at Jared's hand, anyway.

"This guy fucks," Richard says, strangled.

Jared laughs. "Well!" he says. "I don't know about that. But I do have, ah, a bit of experience here and there. And if I can in any way assist you, I'd be delighted to be of service." He squeezes Richard's thigh. Richard makes a noise that isn't quite a word.

They sit in silence for a moment, Jared's fingers idly tracing the inseam of Richard's pants, until Richard speaks. "Yeah," he says. "Okay. If — I don't think — but if you will. Can. Yes. Please." His last word is so quiet, Jared wouldn't hear it if they weren't so close together.

"Of course," Jared says simply. "Anything for you." He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the flush spreading over Richard's face, blotchy and uneven and somehow very attractive.

There's something about Richard that Jared has always found attractive, from day one. 

That's not why he came to Pied Piper, of course. That would have been foolish: the salary, the stock options, the _life_ he'd built at Hooli; to throw that away for some tousled curls and the awkward way Richard bites his lip … no, no. That would have been beyond foolish. But still, Jared can't deny the attraction. His offer is not entirely selfless.

They sit in silence: Jared with his hand on Richard's thigh, Richard with his hands folded in his lap, not quite protectively, their knees pressed against each other. Jared watches the slow rise and fall of Richard's shoulders, the deep and jagged breaths that shake his chest.

Finally, Richard looks up at him.

"I can't even kiss," he says plaintively. "She said —"

"We can do that, too." Jared keeps his voice low, perhaps even intimate. "Are you alright with that? With kissing?"

"What?" Richard's mouth contorts on itself, confusion writ plain on his face. "Why would I not — if you're going to — _we're_ going to —"

"Some men aren't comfortable kissing other men," Jared says. He tries to keep the melancholy out of his voice, the memory of the first boy he'd loved at Vassar, the one who would touch him but who would never love him back.

It doesn't entirely work, from the way Richard's eyes go soft. But that's not why they're here; Richard hasn't come to him to dole out pity and Jared hasn't offered his sad backstory, just his services.

Richard will never love him, either. But that's fine. Just fine. Jared forces a smile. "If you're comfortable," he says, and leans in.

Richard meets him halfway, and Jared sees the problem immediately. He's too eager by half, even this hesitant he’s too forward and too pushy. Their noses bump. Their teeth click. Jared's hands come up to Richard's shoulders, to push him back, to still him. Richard looks at him, eyes wide with alarm.

"Fuck," he says, starts to say, but Jared presses a finger to his mouth. Richard's eyes are still wide but it's not fear now, not quite. 

Jared traces his finger along the seam of Richard's lips where they're drawn tight and thin.

"Shh," he murmurs. "Don't move. Let me guide you."

He drags his finger down to Richard's chin, catching against his lower lip on the way. Richard lets out a sound, brief and high pitched and probably involuntary.

His fingers wrap around the curve of Richard's jaw. "Stay," he says, and holds Richard still as he leans in to brush their lips together. Richard breathes out shakily through his nose, and Jared can feel it hot against his cheek; it's a little gross, but he doesn't mind.

He leans back but doesn't let go of Richard's face. Richard's eyes are closed.

"Good," Jared says. "Start off slowly. There's a time and a place for teeth and tongue, but a first kiss isn't it."

He moves in and kisses Richard again: still closed-mouthed, still gentle, but for longer this time. And sweeter, Jared would almost think, if he allowed himself to think such things.

When he pulls back this time, Richard is looking at him. Jared drops his hand from Richard's chin.

"Okay," Richard says, "but when …"

He trails off, and Jared smiles at him. "You can't plan it, Richard," he says, and ignores Richard's frustrated sound. "You need to let it happen organically."

"But what if it _doesn't_?"

Jared shrugs. "Then you're kissing the wrong person."

Richard visibly startles. "Do you think — was Liz just the wrong person? Maybe I'm not — _terrible_ , maybe we're just not _compatible_ —"

Well, Donald, Jared thinks, here's your chance. Speak now or forever hold your peace.

A long moment passes, Richard staring up at Jared expectantly, hopefully, as if Jared could give his blessing to the idea.

"It's possible," Jared concedes. "But it wouldn't hurt to hone your skills. Just in case."

Richard deflates a little. "Yeah," he says, sounding almost distracted. "True."

Jared leans forward again, clearly into Richard's personal space but not quite pressing their lips together. "Do you want to …"

Richard kisses him. It's better this time, slower and more subtle; he nudges Jared's mouth open but doesn't attack him with his tongue. Jared keeps it slow, languid.

The longer they kiss the more Richard relaxes into it, the set of his shoulders softening, the clench of his fingers in his lap unknotting. Jared can feel one of Richard's hands on his knee, awkward and delicate, fingertips spider-like on his kneecap before they settle. He swipes his tongue over the ridge of Richard's teeth and swallows Richard's moan.

His instinct is to push Richard down, lay him out on the bed and slowly undress him, kiss his way down his body. But — not tonight, not now. Richard needs to be the one to take initiative; he needs to feel like he's in charge.

Still. Jared fists his hands in Richard's sweater and pulls him closer. Richard gasps against Jared's mouth.

"Can we …" Richard swallows audibly. "Should we lay down?"

"Of course. If that's what you'd like."

Richard just nods, their foreheads bumping together. "Shit," he says. "Sorry."

Jared laughs, despite himself.

"You never have to apologize to me, Richard."

Richard exhales, a long shaky breath, and Jared fastens their mouths together again. "Lead the way," he murmurs against Richard's lips.

"Oh, uh," Richard stutters. "Okay."

He brings both hands up to Jared's shoulders and pushes lightly; Jared takes the hint, loosening his grip on Richard's sweater and leaning back, shifting and rearranging himself as gracefully as he can manage so that his back is against the pillows.

Richard stares, wide-eyed, like he's never seen Jared before. And he hasn't, Jared supposes; not like this. He smiles as sweetly as he can and gestures for Richard to come closer.

"Remember," he says. He keeps his voice low; this is supposed to be instructional, but he doesn't want to entirely ruin the mood. "There's nothing wrong with taking charge in a sexual situation. If she makes the first move that's all right, but it doesn't hurt for you to take initiative."

"Shut up," Richard says. He sounds frustrated, rather than angry. He moves to straddle Jared, knees on either side of his waist, puts a hand to Jared's chest and shoves him back into the pillows. "Shut up and just —" 

Richard kisses him. It's better this time, certainly; there's a hint of teeth but in a way Jared can't deny thrills him to his core, the softest nip at his lip before Richard tilts his head and brings their mouths flush together. He's learning quickly.

His hand is still on Jared's chest, holding him down, and Jared hopes his heart isn't beating too rapidly. But if he were a woman, the woman Richard was bedding, Richard would have taken an excellent next step.

"Unbutton my shirt," Jared whispers. Richard stops, half crouched over him.

"N- now?"

Jared nods.

Richard's hands move shakily to Jared's collar; it takes him a few tries but he undoes the buttons there. Slowly, slowly his hands move downward, fingers tracing the skin he reveals with every motion. Jared sucks in a breath.

"That's good," he says when Richard has his shirt undone, the fabric pooling around him, sleeves hanging off his shoulders.

"Now." He chuckles, a little self conscious. He's skinny, he knows: not exactly scrawny but it's been a while now since he's been able to take advantage of Hooli's gym, and he was hardly buff to begin with. "Now … if you're with a woman, of course, chances are she'll have bigger breasts than I do! She'll probably be wearing a bra, also, that you'll have to maneuver around."

Something flashes in Richard's eyes at the word bra, and Jared can't quite tell what it is. Perhaps it's something he's had difficulty with in the past; perhaps he's imagining Jared decked out in lace. It's probably not the latter, but Jared can't help but hope. It's never been a particular kink of his, but if Richard were interested …

"Anyway," he says, snapping himself out of his reverie, "despite this, the mechanics are largely the same. Put your hands on my chest," he urges when Richard doesn't make a move.

Slowly, Richard reaches out to place his hands on Jared's chest, to cup the breasts he doesn't have.

"Good," Jared breathes out. "Good."

Without prompting, Richard brushes a thumb over one of Jared's nipples. Jared shivers. Richard does it again, more firmly this time, a hint of a blunt nail scraping across. He looks up at Jared for the first time in a while, their eyes meeting, and Jared is suddenly all too aware of the color high in his cheeks, belying the composed demeanor of his words. He knows that his penis is starting to tent his briefs, as well, but it doesn't seem like Richard has noticed that. Yet. Not that anything will be done about it if he does.

"Can I kiss you again," Richard says.

Jared smiles at him. "You don't have to ask."

With me, he thinks; probably it would be wiser to teach Richard the virtues of explicit consent, but Richard is kissing him again, soft and sweet. He pinches Jared's nipple, and Jared groans into the kiss. He does it again, harder, and Jared's hips jerk up involuntarily.

"Like that?" Richard asks, his lips still pressed to Jared's, and Jared can feel his own curve into a smile.

"Like that," he says. "You can use your mouth, as well. Some — most people, in fact, enjoy that."

"Right," Richard says. "Yeah. It's — I've done this before. This part. Not with — I mean — but with girls and stuff. Well," he amends quickly. "I've done it … well. I think."

Jared fights to keep the smile off his face; it's fond, but he's not certain Richard won't take it as mockery. "Show me."

"I — yeah. Okay."

Richard pinches at Jared's nipple again, and ducks down to cover the other one with his mouth. As with kissing, he's too wet, too sloppy. It's not — terrible, though, and when Richard's teeth graze over the sensitive flesh there Jared's hips jerk up again.

He can feel his erection bump up against Richard, against Richard's own. Richard gasps against his chest at the sudden contact, his mouth suctioning around Jared's nipple, and Jared lets out a noise he'll probably come to regret.

"Richard," he begins, apologetic, but Richard sits up to look at him and the words die in his throat.

"You're —" Richard coughs. "You're uh. Into this. Yeah? This is — this is pretty good, right? Pretty good? Pretty … not bad?" 

"Pretty good," Jared echoes dumbly. Richard's lips are still red from kissing and he can't stop looking at them. As if on miraculous cue, Richard bends down to kiss him again, and Jared lifts his head up eagerly.

This is so selfish of him; he _knows_ it's selfish, terribly so, but if it's to help Richard, if it's a thing Richard wants …

One of Jared's hands curls itself around the back of Richard's head, tangling in the curls there; the other rests on Richard's hip. He moves that hand slowly, so slowly toward the front of Richard's pants. His fingers cup Richard's erection, and when Richard gasps this time it's into Jared's mouth.

Jared shivers.

"Richard," he says, and tries to keep the pleading from his tone. "May I …"

"Fuck," Richard says. He draws it out, long and uneven: Fuu _uuc_ k. "Jared. God."

He curls his fingers, squeezing just slightly. Richard's whole body spasms. If he's this responsive through layers of fabric, Jared can only imagine what he'll be like when he gets him naked. If he gets him naked; if he's ever so fortunate.

This isn't about you, he reminds himself. He takes a breath.

Reluctantly, he lets Richard's curls slip from his fingers, moving both his hands to Richard's fly. He undoes Richard's pants as quickly as he can, before either of them can panic, before either of them can move away, shimmies them down his thighs and pushes his boxers down with them.

Richard's penis springs free, hard against his stomach. It's not huge by any metric: slim like the rest of him, just long enough that Jared suspects it would feel amazing inside him. He could swallow him easily, he's sure of it, take Richard into his throat and wring an orgasm or two out of him that way. His pubic hair is unruly, untrimmed, thick and dark. He looks incredible.

"Oh, Richard," he says quietly, reverentially.

Richard stammers out a response, a sort of "u- uh" and "oh," nothing resembling words. When Jared drags his eyes back up to Richard's face it's to see that he's flushed again, red to his ears, teeth digging into his own lip hard enough to look painful. Jared draws one finger up the length of Richard's penis and Richard's eyes fall shut, his mouth dropping open. There's precome beading at his slit and Jared pulls his finger through it. Richard gasps, just a little.

He has lubricant but he doesn't want to move to get it, doesn't want to risk Richard panicking if Jared stops touching him. Doesn't want to stop touching him.

He murmurs Richard's name again and Richard's eyes snap open. They're glazed over, and it seems like Richard can't quite make eye contact; his gaze keeps flitting down to where Jared's fingers are wrapped loosely around his erection. 

Jared strokes him a few times, fingers still loose so as not to drag too much friction up and down Richard's length. Slowly he lets go, brings his hand to his own mouth and licks at his palm. He does it again, wetter; he hadn’t set out to put on a show but he can't ignore the way Richard is staring at him, eyes wider than Jared has ever seen them. 

He wraps his damp hand back around Richard; Richard lets out a broken sound that might be Jared's name.

"You're so perfect," Jared says quietly. "Look at you. Look how good you look like this." He's babbling, knows he should stop before he embarrasses himself, before he scares off Richard for good. But Richard doesn't seem to mind; his hips jerk up to meet Jared's strokes, and before Jared can say anything else Richard is pulling him in for another kiss.

It doesn't last long, Richard burying his face in Jared's shoulder, his breath hot on Jared's neck. It's hardly a moment before Jared is talking again, words spilling out now that Richard's tongue is no longer there to stop them: "So good," he says. "You fit so nicely in my hand, Richard, my goodness. Like you're —" _meant to be there_. This isn't about you, he reminds himself. "She'll — if you're sleeping with a woman — when you're — you'll seem even bigger. In her hands. Most women have smaller hands than I do." He laughs, a bit self deprecatingly; from the way Richard moans on his upstroke he's probably not even listening.

" _Jared_ ," Richard breathes out. He bites down on Jared's shoulder, and Jared shudders. His hand clenches on Richard's penis and Richard bites down harder, an ouroboros of lust.

This isn't about you, he reminds himself again. This is about Richard. For Richard.

He strokes his hand up Richard's length again, twice, three more times, and then Richard is coming with a strangled shout. He can feel Richard's come seeping through his fingers, hot where it's splattered against his chest. 

"Oh God," Richard says. "Fuck. _Fuck_."

Jared can't help but feel alarm at Richard's words, although he doesn't seem regretful in saying them: he sounds aroused, still, and slightly startled, like the force of his own orgasm surprised him.

"Richard?" he says tentatively.

"Fuck," Richard says again. "Jared. That was —" He stops, blinks a few times in rapid succession. Sits up abruptly.

"Uh," he says. "That was — wow. Jared. Thanks. I feel like — I really — uh. I should. Thank you. I should. Go."

Jared sits up himself, props himself up with the hand that's not dripping with Richard's semen. He surreptitiously wipes that hand off on the sheets; he can wash them later. "It was my pleasure," he says, and winces. Perhaps not the wisest choice of words.

Richard doesn't seem to notice. "I gotta," he says, off the bed and hopping awkwardly as he pulls his pants back up, backing away from the bed at the same time. "Thanks. Gotta — gotta go."

"Of course, Richard." Jared keeps his voice as smooth, as even as he can. "Have a good night."

"Right," Richard says, his hand on the doorknob. He lets himself out. The door slams shut behind him.

Jared collapses back against his pillow.

"Oh my goodness gracious, Donald," he says, "what _have_ you done?"

 

— 

 

Richard's been gone for over four hours.

It's not an unreasonable amount of time for a date, even taking traffic into account. If dinner went well, they could easily have lingered a couple of hours. If it went particularly well — 

_Well_.

Jared checks his phone, checks it again. He sets it aside. There's work he could be getting done, of course, or it's getting late enough that he could easily get ready for bed. He always puts that off as long as he can, though: he doesn't mind living in the garage — Erlich isn't the worst landlord he's had by far — but there's something about being in his pajamas in the server room that's not entirely comfortable.

He checks the time again. Almost midnight.

The house is oddly silent when he walks through it on the way to the bathroom. It's just as dark on the way back, his teeth brushed, his clothes neatly folded over his arm in exchange for an undershirt and sleep pants. 

When he gets back to the garage, all the lights are on. Richard is sitting on his bed: knees knocking, hands twisting awkwardly in his lap. Jared blinks once, twice. His phone glows softly on the nightstand, but he can't tell the time from here.

"Oh, Richard! What a surprise!" 

He's glad to see him, of course.

"Fucking," Richard says, and " _Tinder_." He kicks at the ground, one shoe scuffing in the dirt there.

Jared stands there, facing him, his clothes draped over his hands. He takes another step into the garage, then another; he shuts the door behind himself. He put his clothes neatly over the back of his chair. He steps closer to the bed.

"So your date …" He hesitates. "Didn't go well?"

Richard laughs a little, disparaging, suddenly breathless. "It went great!" he says. His hands fly into the air, exploding from their fists at the sides of his face. "Great," he says again, hands falling back into his lap. "Until she … I … fuck. _Fuck_."

Jared carefully sits next to Richard on the bed. He feels underdressed and overexposed in his own room, but to be honest it doesn't seem like Richard is paying much attention. He's caught up in himself, twisting together his fingers as he stares down into his own lap.

Slowly, Jared puts a hand on the back of one of Richard's hands, quelling the nervous motion there.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Richard doesn't say anything. He runs a thumb across the backs of Jared's knuckles. Jared watches the way their hands move against each other.

"Show me," Richard says finally. He twists his hands, wraps his fingers around Jared's wrists. "Please."

"Richard," Jared says quietly. "Have you been drinking?"

Richard shakes his head, vehement in his denial. "Sure," he says. "A little. But — Jared, I fucked up. I just. I fucked up, and I don't — I don't want to." He breathes in harshly. "Be such a fuckup. Anymore."

His fingers tighten around Jared's wrists. 

Jared says his name warningly but Richard just hums in response, fingers flexing before he twists, pivots, presses Jared's arms up and over his head. Jared could fight it easily but he doesn't, lets himself be maneuvered up the bed until his wrists are pinned, until Richard is sprawled over him and kissing him deeply.

"Did you do this," Jared asks, surprised to hear how thick with lust his voice is already. "With her?"

Richard rocks down against him. He's hard in his jeans. Jared feels his own body stirring in response.

"Don't wanna talk about her," Richard says, breathless.

"Mmm." Jared hums, as disapproving as he can with Richard grinding down against him in short, abortive little thrusts. "I — Richard. How can I help you if you won't —" He cuts himself off, cuts back a groan. "If you won't tell me what you need help with?"

"I need help with all of it," Richard says, and he laughs, rueful, before letting go of Jared’s hands to cradle his face instead. He's bold, probably drunker than he claims to be. Jared should shrug him off, should put him to bed, should …

He keeps his arms above his head, grabs onto his own wrist. Richard kisses him again. Jared cranes his neck up into it, kisses back.

"Tell me about your date," he says, fighting to keep his voice steady. Richard bites at his lip, half chastisement.

"Um. Her name was Stephanie? She's blonde. Pretty, very — you know. Kinda curvy. Cute. Dinner was — was good," Richard says. His voice has gone high and wavery. Jared hooks a leg around Richard's thighs and tugs him in that way. Richard takes a shaky breath. "We went back to — her place. Her hands — You were right. They made my dick look. Uh. Bigger. I uh —" He laughs; it's not a pleasant sound. "Told her you'd said that. That she would. Be smaller. That, uh, was a little hard to explain."

"Oh, Richard," he says fondly. His voice breaks, just a little, when Richard grinds down against him.

"Jared," Richard pleads, "touch me." And Jared knows what he means but when he moves his hands it's to bury them in Richard's hair and drag him in for another bruising kiss.

"Did you sleep with her?"

"I wanted to. God, I was gonna — but I couldn't. Like. Physically, I thought maybe I'd had too much to drink but I just — I'm not. Having trouble now? Which I don't understand, completely, but —"

"Fuck me," Jared says simply.

Richard laughs, harsh and helpless. "Yeah," he says. "That was the pl— oh. Oh. Fuck — you? You mean …" He trails off. 

"Show me what you did," Jared says. His fingers tighten in Richard's hair. "And we’ll figure out what went wrong.."

"We kissed," Richard says. He sits up, knees on either side of Jared's hips; Jared's hands fall down to sit on Richard's thighs. "We kissed at dinner and then we kissed in the Lyft and then we went back to her place and — that was good. The kissing. It went. Well." A trace of a smile makes its way across his face. "So. Thanks, for that."

Jared's fingers squeeze Richard's thigh, just once, a silent acknowledgement. "Show me," he says again.

"Okay," Richard says. His laugh is a little thin. "Just — here," he says, and tugs at the hem of Jared's shirt. "Take this off."

When Jared's pulled his shirt up and over his head, he sees that Richard has similarly divested of his own shirt. Richard shifts to lie down next to him, propped up on one elbow. He tugs at the drawstring of Jared's sleep pants, but doesn't untie it.

"She had — these jeans on. Fly undone. I don't know if I — if she — we were kissing, and then my hand was down her pants?" He pauses. Jared is very, very aware suddenly of how close Richard's hand is to his own erection. He can see himself straining through his sleep pants. There's no way Richard can't see it, too. Richard's fingers toy with the fabric there.

When Richard slips his hand beneath his pants, into his underwear, Jared sucks in a harsh breath. When Richard wraps his fingers loosely around the very base of his penis, Jared lets out a gasp loud enough to startle himself.

"R- richard! You don't —"

Richard grins at him, a little crooked. "We were kissing," he says again, and leans in to press a kiss to Jared's throat. Jared can feel his lips move as he keeps talking: "We were kissing and I — was. Fingering her." Richard licks his lips; Jared can feel that, too. "Should I — do you want me to. Do that. To you."

Jared says Richard's name again, tries to. His voice dies in his throat. "You don't —" He coughs lightly. "You don't have to do anything that would make you uncomfortable."

"You said I should show you."

Jared lets out a loud breath. "You don't —" He tries again. "If you want to. You could."

Richard kisses his neck again, shifts to kiss him on the lips. "Let me show you," he says.

Jared's lips slip open, parting for Richard's tongue. They kiss for a few minutes, loose and slow, Richard's hand still barely wrapped around Jared's erection. Richard's fingers wander: lower, lower, tracing over Jared's testicles, pressing softly but insistently against his perineum. 

"Oh," Richard says, laughing awkwardly against Jared's lips. "That's. Uh. Really far back there."

Jared bites back his own laughter. "Here," he says, and shifts, drawing his legs up so that his feet rest flat on the bed. Richard's wrist catches in the elastic of Jared's briefs.

"Oh," Jared says apologetically at the same time Richard spits out, " _shit_."

"Do you want me to —" Jared offers, tugging at the waist of his own pants. Richard struggles to sit up.

"Oh shit," he says again. "I got — my shoes. On your bed. I'm so sorry."

Jared laughs, genuine this time. "It's fine," he says. "I'll wash the sheets. Should we —" He gestures between them. Take our clothes off, he means, but somehow can't quite bring himself to say.

"Maybe if you — your pants," Richard concedes. "She kept hers on but maybe you should —" He grins at him, jittery but easy, like it's not about the girl at all, and Jared's heart catches in his chest. Anything, he thinks; anything, anything.

Richard sits up, toes his shoes off and looks back at Jared. His face falls, just a little. "Unless — you can. Keep your pants on. If you want to; I don't want you to —"

Jared stands. He tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and tugs; they fall and pool at his feel. His underwear follow. He steps carefully out of the puddle of fabric and gets back on the bed, arranges himself the way he'd been lying there before: legs slightly spread, back arched. On display. He doesn't mean to show off, that's not the point of this, but — Richard's eyes are on him, huge and dark.

"O- oh," Richard says. "I thought I felt — or — didn't — uh. You, uh. You shave."

"Oh, well," Jared says modestly. Of all the things that have happened, somehow this is what coaxes a blush across his features. "Wax, actually. It's more thorough."

Richard's eyes go even rounder. He reaches toward Jared, more a gesture than anything. "Can I —"

Anything, Jared thinks.

"Of course."

The backs of Richard's fingers trail feather-light up the underside of Jared's penis. Jared's breath catches. He reaches out and snags Richard's wrist.

"Just show me what you did," he says, "to her."

"Yeah," Richard says. "Uh-huh." He shakes his arm from Jared's grasp and props himself over him instead, leaning in for a kiss. Jared's eyes fan shut.

"Show me," he says against Richard's lips. "Don't be afraid."

Richard pulls away from him, their mouths meeting again and again, pulling more slowly away from each other. Richard's eyes are intent on him; it's nearly too much, and Jared shuts his own.

He feels Richard's fingers trace up the inside of his leg, soft and gentle, almost ticklish. When those fingers reach the apex of his thigh he can feel them hesitate, a gentle _tap-tap-tap_ against the thin skin there.

"There's lubricant," he says. "In that drawer."

Richard's "Oh!" is so startled that Jared's eyes fly open.

"Do you —" Richard breathes in sharply. "Do this. A lot? To yourself?"

"Sometimes."

"Would you — show me?"

"I'll teach you," Jared says. He smiles, but he can feel it wavering. He's so — so aroused it's very nearly painful, and the idea of Richard touching him in his most intimate spot is so overwhelming he has no idea how he'll survive the actual experience.

He pushes himself upright and past Richard, leaning over him to grab the lubricant from its place in his nightstand. He places it in Richard's palm, folds his fingers over it, pulls that hand toward his mouth to grace Richard's knuckles with the softest kiss. It's — an indulgence, but one he allows himself. He can't quite meet Richard's eyes. He settles back down, head against the pillow, knees bent.

"O- oh," Richard says. When Jared looks up it's to see him staring down at the tube in his hand. Slowly he uncaps it and drizzles some of the lubricant onto his fingers; it drips down onto Jared's stomach, cold and wet. Jared hisses in a breath.

"Sorry," Richard says. "Fuck. Sorry."

"It's — it's all right," Jared gasps out. "Please. Just —"

Richard brings one slicked finger to Jared's asshole. He traces around the rim, skittish, the lubricant slowly warming to his skin. "Like this?" he asks.

Oh, Jared thinks, barely lucid. That's right. He's supposed to be teaching Richard — this is _about_ Richard — 

He feels himself break: "Just touch me," he says, begs — there's no other word for it. He's pleading, eyes squeezed shut, ass tilted up. "Please."

"Yeah," Richard says. Jared can hear the determination back in his voice, the drive, even in that one word; he can feel it in the way Richard's finger presses against him — harder, firmer, and then _in_. They exhale at the same time, great gasps of air into the silence of the garage.

Richard starts moving his finger, slow presses in and pulls out, building a steady rhythm almost immediately. "Like this?" he asks again. Less hesitant, this time: not so afraid of doing it wrong, but intent on getting it right. 

Jared nods weakly, his head tipped back against the pillow. "That's — you're doing very well." He takes a breath, regroups. "Is this — how many fingers did you use? With her?"

It takes a moment for Richard to reply. "Uh," he says, finally. "Two? Two. Should I —"

" _Please_."

"You're so — smooth," Richard says. He laughs, a little awkwardly. "I mean, with the — waxing, and the — but also — inside. And so. Tight? I don't know how I'm gonna fit my dick in there. I should probably —"

He pulls his finger back and returns with two, pressed tightly together and dripping with lube.

Richard keeps talking, faster and faster like the words are being pulled out of him, fingers pistoning to the same beat. "You're so wet like this. Fuck. You feel so good. Are you — would you be this wet? If you were a girl? I feel like she wasn't this wet, which, in retrospect — heh. Maybe part of the problem. God, Jared, you gotta — I gotta — you feel. Does this feel good? For you?" 

The thrusts of his fingers have gone erratic, uneven, hitting Jared's prostate every few strokes. Jared contemplates the idea that his soul has ascended to a higher plane. Vaguely, he registers that Richard has asked him a question; he tries to respond, to say _Yes, yes, so good_ but all that comes out is a sort of keening noise.

"Condoms," he says finally. "With the — with the lubricant."

"Oh!" Richard sounds startled, as if all the questions about the girl and Jared saying _fuck me_ and Richard's fingers stretching Jared's asshole had been leading up to something else. 

"Okay," Richard pants out. "Right. Sure. I'm — I'm gonna. Yes."

Jared whines when Richard pulls his fingers out. He feels — empty. It's not an unfamiliar feeling but it's usually more — spiritual. This is a new sensation, this feeling of having-had Richard, and not having him anymore.

He hears the zip of Richard's fly, the dull thud of denim falling to the floor; he hears the rip of the foil packet and he hears Richard's laugh, uneven, a thin rush of air. 

"This is, uh." Richard laughs again. "This is where I had some trouble. But I don't —" 

Jared blinks up at him, eyes open enough to watch the latex snap over the head of Richard's erection. Richard keeps talking as he rolls it slowly down: "I couldn't uh. Stay hard. Steph — she — she wasn't. Super impressed? With that? Which is fair; it was — pretty embarrassing. I just kind of — left? But Jesus, Jared, I'm so fucking hard now. For you. Fuck. Can I —"

" _Please_ ," Jared grits out.

He watches Richard slick up his erection; he watches Richard situate himself between his legs. He watches, wide-eyed, as Richard lines himself up.

He feels himself tense around the intrusion and wills himself calm, takes a few deep breaths. Relaxes his muscles. Feels Richard breach him, feels him push in inch by slow inch. Just as slowly Richard bends forward, his knees tucked to Jared's thighs, hands on either side of Jared's head. He leans down; he kisses him.

Jared surges up into it, desperate. His hands fit themselves to Richard's shoulders, pulling him in impossibly tighter. Their mouths fit together unevenly, imperfectly, a little sloppy; when Jared bites down too hard on Richard's lip his hips jerk forward sharply. He does it again.

Distantly, Jared registers that he's supposed to be guiding Richard through this. He tucks his face to Richard's neck, gently scrapes his teeth there to feel Richard shudder. He breathes in. He breathes out. 

"I've uh," Richard says, "I've never — Jesus, _fuck_ — done this. Before. With a girl? Like — anal. I've watched some — fuck, Jared, you're so. I can't. Can't believe this is real —"

He keeps talking, rambling and barely coherent, words off beat with the way he pushes into Jared time and time again. With every slick thrust Jared can feel his heart beating faster.

"You're doing —" Jared takes a sharp breath. "Doing so well. Richard. You're so — she doesn't know what she's missing out on. Harder," he says, begs. "Harder. Please."

" _Fuck_ ," Richard says again. He pulls out, and Jared makes a noise he knows he should be ashamed of, the way he should be ashamed of how he begs: Please, _please_. And then Richard is nudging at him, rearranging him, and his legs are over Richard's shoulders. It feels just as amazing when Richard pushes back in for the second time. He's bent in half, Richard moving relentlessly inside him.

Richard fastens their mouths together, biting down hard on Jared's lip before slipping his tongue between his lips. Jared opens for him eagerly, his heels digging into Richard's spine, his hands clutching onto Richard's shoulders. 

Richard gasps into his mouth. "Fuck. Fuck, _Jared_ — I'm gonna — I'm so —"

Jared can feel Richard seize on top of him, his whole body tensing, hips stuttering to a slow stop. He can feel the way Richard's arms tremble, threatening to give out; he feels it when Richard slowly lowers himself to lay on Jared's chest. He tightens his legs around Richard's back, holding him there, feeling Richard breathe.

It's only when his legs start to tremble that he lets go, legs splayed to the sides, hands loosening their grip on Richard's shoulders. He's still hard between them, his erection rubbing up against Richard's stomach every time Richard takes a breath. Richard is still inside him, going soft but still filling him.

"Gosh," Jared says, once he can mostly breathe again. Richard laughs, a little breathless himself, and moves as if to get off of him. Jared grabs at his shoulders again, pulling him back in.

"Stay," he says. "Stay — in me. Please. Until I come. Girls like that."

"Girls —" Richard sounds almost confused before he cuts himself off, and for one brief moment Jared allows himself to think: this isn't about the girl. To think, maybe, it's about _him_.

He eases a hand between them, wraps it around his own aching erection. "You don't have to do anything," he whispers. "Just — stay there. Please."

Richard takes a deep breath. It seems almost like he's about to say something but he kisses Jared instead, softly, gently. That's almost enough on its own; Jared strokes himself once, twice, his hand butting up against Richard's stomach. He comes with a low groan. He breathes heavily, shakily into Richard's mouth.

Richard slowly pulls out, easing himself gently off of Jared. He pulls the condom off and knots it quickly; Jared doesn't see where it disappears to after that, but he can't bring himself to care. He just — Richard just —

There's not really enough room for two grown men to lay side by side on Jared's bed, so Jared shifts onto his side, tucking himself up against Richard. They lay there for a moment, breathing almost in unison.

"Richard," Jared says softly, and he can feel Richard startle. "That was incredible."

Richard laughs, just a little. "It — oh," he says. "Do you — think so?" He sounds genuinely surprised.

" _You're_ incredible."

It's a step too far; beside him, he can feel Richard stiffen. He can practically hear Richard's walls going up.

"Well, uh," Richard says. "Well. Uh. That was — very — educational." He sits up quickly, swings his legs over the side of the bed. "That — thank you. I'll, uh — thanks. Thank you. I should probably —"

"Of course," Jared says quietly. He sits up, legs curled to one side. He starts to reach out for Richard, but he stops himself. He's abruptly, achingly aware of the way his semen is drying tacky on his stomach, of a loose and empty feeling — inside his body, and emotionally as well. Aware of the way Richard is pulling away, has pulled away.

Richard shuffles into his pants. "Have you, uh — my shirt?" he asks. He sounds, he looks, like he wants to be anywhere else. Jared reaches down to the foot of the bed where the soft pile of Richard's shirt is crumpled, picks it up and hands it to him wordlessly. Their fingertips barely brush; Richard visibly shudders. His hair is a mess. His lips are red, bitten. He looks — well-fucked.

He picks up his shoes, doesn't bother putting them on before he walks to the door to the house. He pauses, turns to look back over his shoulder. "Um," he says. "Thanks. Again. I — yeah."

The door shuts behind him. Jared falls back to the bed.

Slowly, he reaches between his legs and traces the rim of his asshole with a tentative, delicate finger. He's puffy, sore; he'll ache in the morning. He's still slick with lubricant and without meaning to he slips that finger inside himself. His moan sounds louder in the empty room. He fucks himself slowly, adding another finger, relishing the burn. If — if he just does this to himself. If he brings himself off again, maybe — if he can forget about Richard — 

Selfish, Donald, he chastises himself. Selfish.

His penis lies limp against his thigh; when he strokes a hand over it it just hurts, oversensitive. He's brought himself to multiple orgasms before, but that doesn't seem to be in the cards tonight.

He squeezes his eyes shut, tries not to imagine it's Richard's fingers inside him. He pulls them out, wipes them off on the sheets. These sheets are — not destroyed, but. Semen, lubricant, Richard's shoes; he should change them before he goes to sleep.

Practical thoughts. Good, solid, practical thoughts. And actions. No — no frivolity. No thoughts of — 

Jared sighs harshly. He stands up. He aches when he bends over to pick them up, but he puts on his underwear, his sleep pants. His undershirt is — somewhere, but it wouldn't be the oddest thing for him to sleep topless.

If someone were to walk into the garage right now, they'd be scandalized by more than the sight of Jared's bare chest: the entire room reeks of sex. 

He strips the top sheet from his bed. The fitted sheet, beneath it, is fine. Unsoiled.

He lays down, shirtless, sheetless. Bared to the elements. He closes his eyes. He counts his breaths for what seems like hours until he falls asleep.

 

— 

 

Richard — not avoids him, per se. It's almost impossible for any of them to avoid each other, living together, working together. But every word Richard says to him is brief, perfunctory. More than once he catches Richard just … looking at him, and he can't tell what's in Richard's eyes. Not with how quickly Richard looks away.

Jared is pretty sure the guys notice, but — all the weird looks are directed at Richard, not toward him. Richard being strange again, Richard being moody, Richard distracted. What's new, what's new.

Jared's just beginning to adjust to the new status quo when Richard corners him in the kitchen.

"Hey," Richard says. He can't quite meet Jared's eyes. "We need to talk. Can we? Talk? I need to — to talk to you."

Jared catches himself smoothing down his shirt, standing up straighter. Making himself look presentable.

"Of course, Richard," he says.

Richard visibly swallows. His gulp is audible. "O- okay. Cool. Cool. Whenever you've got, uh, time."

Jared smiles. He doesn't mean to say it, doesn't mean to be so honest, but: "I always have time for you," he says.

"Oh," Richard says. "Okay. Cool. Thanks. I'll, uh, talk to you — we'll talk — later."

He all but vanishes from the kitchen. He doesn't talk to Jared for the rest of the day. Jared doesn't talk to him, either.

The knock on the door to the garage, that night, comes as a surprise only in that people rarely knock. Which is dangerous, Jared realizes suddenly. The last two times Richard was in here — they didn't even put a tie on the doorknob. Anyone could have walked in, seen Richard buried deep inside him.

Jared takes a deep breath, steels himself, wills away his arousal. He doesn't want to frighten Richard off — this conversation, this gentle let-down on Richard's part, could be essential to maintaining their working relationship — and a noticeable bulge in his khakis would certainly do that.

"Come in," he calls out. He's sitting in his armchair, reading articles on his phone — not about Pied Piper, for once, but about a new species of spider recently discovered; the pictures make him shiver but the taxonomy is fascinating. The door opens; he looks up.

"Oh, hello Richard," he says. He hopes the flutter of his heart doesn't make its way into his voice. He puts his phone down. 

Richard shuts the door behind himself.

"Uh," he says. "Hey — Jared."

"How are you doing?"

Richard sighs harshly, bites his lip, runs a hand through his hair.

"Look," he says. "Fuck this. Let's dispense with the — the fucking pleasantries, okay? Can we just talk? I just have to. Talk to you."

Jared doesn't say anything. He's not sure what to say. Richard seems — frustrated, almost angry, and Jared can't quite tell at whom the anger is directed.

Richard paces, ever so slowly moving toward Jared. A step forward, two steps back. Three to the side. He's not even facing Jared at all when he finally starts speaking.

"I, uh." He stammers out a laugh. "I owe you an apology. For the way I — treated you the other night. You were just — being so nice? And I. Panicked. Which is — which is fucking bullshit, because you were really — really helping me out. I mean. Not — not everyone would do. What you did. Uh. Not that I would _want_ them to, would want _anyone_ to —"

He turns, finally, to face him. They make eye contact for the briefest moment before Richard wrenches his gaze away, stares down at his own shoes.

"I don't. Want anyone else to. Do that. It's — it's you, Jared. It's you, okay? That I — that I. Want. I want — I want you. It was bad with Liz and it was _disastrous_ with Steph and it was. Good. With you. Fucking — amazing, to be honest.

"And I know. I know you were just — being nice. Helping me out. And look, I don't — maybe this makes me gay or whatever, but. I want — I want you, Jared. Not those girls, not — anyone else. Just. You.

"I know you don't feel the same way, but I just — I had to tell you. In the interest of — honesty, and of just. Not being a shitty person. And using you. And in case —" He looks up at Jared, finally. "In case. You know. You do feel the same way. Maybe."

" _Richard_." It comes out in a rush of air, a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"I know. I'm — sorry," Richard says. He sounds genuinely apologetic.

" _Richard_ ," Jared says again. He stands up. He takes a step forward. 

Richard flinches.

I love you, Jared thinks helplessly, I love you, I love you. Don't run away.

"Don't — Richard. Please. Just — stay." He breathes in. He breathes out. "I — in the interest of honesty, I owe you an apology as well."

"What?" Richard tilts his head. He bites his lip. 

It's Jared's turn to look away. "I — I have had … inclinations toward you, for some time. You came to me in a time of need and when I offered to help you, that offer was not entirely honorable, or selfless. I wanted you, and I — want you. So, I'm sorry. For that. For lying to you."

"Oh," Richard breathes out, "oh, _fuck_."

He takes a step closer, and another, and then his hands are on Jared's shoulders and Jared's hands are in his hair and they're kissing, Richard's mouth opening for him, Richard moaning, Richard shoving a leg between Jared's. Jared gasps and Richard kisses him deeper, harder.

"Please," Richard says. "Please, if you — if we both — I need you, fuck, please."

Jared puts a hand on the small of Richard's back, pulls him in even tighter. He can feel that Richard's hard, pressed up against him. He steps back, pulling Richard with him, turns them around and pushes Richard to sit down in the armchair.

"What —" Richard says, and then Jared drops to his knees and he says, "Oh, God."

He busies himself with Richard's fly and Richard lifts his hips; Jared pulls down Richard's pants, his boxers. Richard's penis is thick and hard, and Jared licks his lips.

"Oh my God, Jared," Richard says. He reaches out and puts a tentative hand on Jared's head, sort of like he's afraid to muss Jared's hair.

Jared says Richard's name, reverent. He leans in, nuzzles against Richard's erection, and Richard lets out a soft, broken sound.

"Please," he says.

Jared echoes it: "Please. Let me —"

"Jared, _Jesus_ ," Richard says, and his hips stutter upward; precome smears across Jared's cheek. Richard inhales sharply.

Jared shifts his weight, brings a hand up to encircle Richard's erection. The fingers of his other hand spread across Richard's thigh, and Richard's hand comes to shakily rest atop it.

"Your hands," Richard says, "fuck, your mouth —"

Jared licks at the tip of Richard's penis. Richard squirms; Jared's hand on his leg tightens.

"Shh," he murmurs, and leans forward, taking the head of Richard's erection into his mouth.

He was right, before: he can take Richard easily, swallowing him down in a few long bobs of his head. Richard is still babbling above him but Jared can hardly hear it over the rush of blood to his head. He's doing this — honestly and openly.

Almost honestly. 

I love you, he thinks again, and swallows around him. Richard yelps. His hand in Jared's hair tightens. He's not pulling on it, not exactly, but he's firm. Growing more confident. Directing the movement of Jared's head, just slightly: up and down, up and down and down. 

Jared's hand is flat against Richard's groin now, fingers nestled in the hair there, his lips pushing down to meet the back of his hand.

"Fuck," Richard says. "I've never — no one's — I thought deepthroating was a fucking myth, Jared, fuck, you feel so —"

Jared breathes in harshly through his nose. His jaw hurts; his eyes water. But Richard — he keeps making these little sounds, sounds that Jared is pulling out of him, and he can't stop now.

"Jared, Jared, _Jared_. Fuck, I'm gonna —"

Jared pulls off, Richard's fingers slipping through his hair. Richard makes a noise like he's been punched.

"Fuck! Why'd you —"

Jared takes a breath, works his jaw. Both his hands move to Richard's knees as he pushes himself upward.

When he speaks his voice is low, almost hoarse. "I couldn't go any longer without kissing you."

"Oh fuck," Richard whispers, sounding awed, and he moves up into the kiss at the same time Jared is leaning down.

Their noses bump. Their teeth click.

It's perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> come nerd out with me [on tumblr](http://robokittens.tumblr.com).


End file.
